


We're in the Rain

by MiraculousCuddlebug



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Desperation, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Kissing in the Rain, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Outdoor Sex, Porn with Feelings, Rain Sex, Softness, Spit As Lube, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:55:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28005750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraculousCuddlebug/pseuds/MiraculousCuddlebug
Summary: After a misunderstanding between Geralt and Jaskier, the ensuing fight reveals things neither thought possible. They quickly make up for lost time.(Based off an idea from giddytf2 on Twitter and AO3)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 14
Kudos: 250





	We're in the Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [giddytf2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/giddytf2/gifts).



> Hello beautiful friends!
> 
> This is a very mushy fic with porn and looooots of feelings. :)  
> I'm a little nervous about posting it because it's pretty much my first smut fic, but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. As with all fiction, please do not use this as sex ed lol use condoms
> 
> The (very creative) title is from She's in the Rain by The Rose.
> 
> Big fluffy thanks to Giddy for the inspiration! <3

30 years was a really fucking long time to be pining. Jaskier could vouch for that. 

It was also a long time to be horny, which he could also attest to.

It had been over a decade since he and Geralt parted ways on the mountain -- a decade during which Jaskier’s life had been turned upside down. 

War posed a threat to everyone’s way of life, but few were so unintentionally embroiled in the politics of it as Geralt and, by association, Jaskier. It forced the bard to become whatever he needed to be: a fugitive, a killer, a spy. A hesitant but dedicated guardian.

Ten years later, Geralt and Jaskier’s relationship hardly resembled what it once had. Unlike before, Geralt had seen firsthand that Jaskier wasn’t nearly as helpless as he seemed. Quite the opposite, in fact. Jaskier was proud to say that he had gotten their strange little group out of some sticky situations. 

Geralt also finally pulled his head out of his ass and asked Jaskier about his lingering youthfulness, leading to a long-overdue conversation about his parentage.

Contrary to Jaskier’s expectations, he wasn’t subjected to Geralt and Yen fucking at every opportunity. At some point, it seemed, the two had figured out that they were more suited to comradeship than romance. 

Yennefer fell into her role as Ciri’s guardian with ease. The woman may have been terrifying, but only when she wanted to be. She was still as prickly as ever with most, but the moment Ciri would show up, her spines softened into warm fur. Jaskier was sure the group would be utterly lost without Yen.

Now, years later, with Ciri grown and getting stronger every day under the sorceress’ tutelage, Geralt was returning to his nomadic lifestyle, once again with Jaskier in tow. The Path was no longer his only purpose -- he had long since warmed to the idea of people needing him for more than just his sword -- but Kaer Morhen could not hold him forever. It was his home ever since he was a child, but its stones held not the same resistance to time as a Witcher. Which was to say nothing of the memories the darkest corners of its halls still preserved.

And thus, there they were, two travel companions untouched by time and yet so changed. 

It took getting used to. Where once Geralt would be the sole deciding factor in where they made camp and when, he would now consult Jaskier. Rather than a lost puppy trailing behind him, Jaskier was now akin to a partner. Though the two did keep up the appearance of the relationship they once had, if for no other reason than to deflect attention. One adventurer and his bumbling bard aroused far less suspicion than a Witcher and a surprisingly competent elf.

Some things very much stayed the same. Time may have softened their relationship, but it did nothing to calm the racing of Jaskier’s heart every time the Witcher got especially close. If anything, it had only been amplified. Seeing Geralt smile at Yen and Ciri, hearing him laugh with his brothers and grumble with Vesemir, watching him drift off to the sound of Jaskier’s voice… nothing from before could even compare.

It was  _ killing _ him.

Jaskier may have learned how to keep calm around the man -- likely thanks to Geralt’s general lack of emotional awareness -- but he couldn’t escape himself. Alone with his thoughts, he found himself imagining a life where he could let his enamoured grin out in plain view, where he could pull the Witcher closer whenever he damn well pleased.

Of course, not all his thoughts were so tame, either. There were plenty of nights spent alone under his covers with fantasies of a large body blanketing his. He knew he should stop himself, but he wasn’t sure he could take it otherwise. To suffocate his desire for Geralt, to live purely as his friend and fellow traveler, was unbearable. So his dreams of becoming something more lived on, fed by days spent at Geralt’s side.

That day in particular, they were a few weeks away from Kaer Morhen, the winter having melted away to invite the warmer breezes of spring, as well as the heavy rains of the changing season. With no particular destination in mind, they travelled almost leisurely. 

Nowadays, Jaskier accompanied Geralt more often than not on contracts since the issue of him being so breakable was no longer such a concern. One such contract was for an ekimmara terrorizing a small forest village west of Ard Carraigh. It was nothing to scoff at -- even a lower vampire like an ekimmara could be the end of an ill-prepared hunter.

Consequently, Jaskier found himself witnessing an ink-eyed Witcher skillfully battling the beast. Despite the two men’s many years of experience together, Geralt still hesitated any time he had to down a potion in front of Jaskier. Which was why it was all the more important that the bard be mindful of his behavior around him at such times.

But Melitele’s tits, the man was gorgeous. He parried and launched attacks like it was a well-practiced dance, his eyes glinting in the milky light of the night. His armor was a part of the shadowy trees, his hair a rippling ribbon of moonlight.

The bard’s breath caught in his throat any time the beast’s sword-like claws swung too close to the Witcher, even though he had seen Geralt take down far more fearsome monsters with little struggle. 

After a short-lived battle, Geralt’s sword swung true, cleaving the ekimmara’s head from its shoulders. It landed with a thump and rolled to a stop a few feet away. Quickly wiping down his dirtied silver blade, he picked up the head and shot a blast of Igni at the twitching body laying in a heap on the forest floor.

When the man turned toward Jaskier to head back to town together, he truly was a sight to behold. His head was hung low, averting his charcoal gaze from his companion, but his hair was tied back enough that it couldn’t obscure his face. It should have been fearsome, horrifying, a monstrous warrior pale as a dead man clutching the disembodied head of the beast he had just beheaded in one stroke. In Jaskier’s extraordinarily biased opinion, he looked  _ glorious. _

He felt himself reacting despite his best efforts and belatedly wished he hadn’t worn his tightest trousers that day. He could feel them growing more suffocating by the second. Hopefully Geralt’s determination not to look in Jaskier’s direction could at least spare him the embarrassment of being caught.

They walked back in relative silence, which for them meant the bard providing the occasional question or comment on Geralt’s “performance” and getting various vague noises in return. After knowing each other for so long, Jaskier didn’t really have any particularly profound questions to ask. This was hardly the first time he had accompanied the Witcher on such a job. But if he had to walk back to town alongside the man with nothing to distract him, he wasn’t sure he could stop himself from doing something stupid like inviting him into his bed.

They walked slowly, letting the potions fade from Geralt’s system before they neared civilization. Jaskier knew that not only did the hunter hate the idea of any townspeople seeing him in such a state, but it was also hell on his senses to be around any more than one person or be subjected to the strong smells that accompanied most settlements.

Unfortunately, Jaskier’s lust seemed to be less inclined to take its leave. Every time he glanced up at the man by his side, he could feel his pulse jump and his words stutter. He hoped to every god that the Witcher was too preoccupied to notice. Both for his own sake as well as Geralt’s. Knowing him, the idiot would note his reaction and assume it was fear. As if he could be afraid of the man who once made a plush lion cub for Ciri out of scrap furs lying around Kaer Morhen. Jaskier laughed softly to himself at the memory.

He wasn’t any better off by the time they came upon the town, but thankfully Geralt was. As the man holding the monster trophy stalked off towards the contract giver, Jaskier himself headed towards the small inn and tavern they were lucky enough to find in the remote village. He told his friend he’d be going straight to bed, giving an exaggerated yawn and mumbling some excuse about how there wouldn’t be anyone with taste good enough to appreciate his music anyway. Geralt gave an affirmative hum and they parted ways.

The bard found himself scrambling gracelessly into the inn and upstairs to their room once he was out of sight. He shut the door behind him and leaned his forehead against it, taking deep breaths. He shut his eyes to try to calm himself, but only found images of the other man etched into his memory. 

WIth a sigh, he decided to take care of it the old fashioned way. Nothing like a good old wank to clear out his system. Of course, it had never really made it any better before, always haunted by sinful thoughts of strong hands gripping his waist, his thighs, a handsome face crowned in white dipping between them to --

He fumbled with the ties on his trousers for a few seconds before shedding them along with his underthings, tossing them unceremoniously on the end of the bed. He made a quick detour to grab a bottle out of his pack, knowing it was going to be one of those nights where a hand on his cock wasn’t going to cut it.

He reclined on the lumpy bed, fluttering his eyes shut and guiltily allowing the thoughts he had been holding back finally wash over him. He spared little time for working himself up, since he had already been aching for a good while. With his left hand stroking himself idly, he reached down further with his right and teased at his rim. He didn’t linger for long, feeling desperate and knowing that his partner could be back any minute. He opened himself up with slick fingers, pressing right where he knew it felt best, frantically trying to work the desire out of his system. Eventually, with three fingers pumping in and out of himself and a hand still tugging on his cock, he spilled on his stomach -- thankfully remembering to tug his shirt up out of the way -- with a choked groan.

Relaxing back into the mattress with a huff, he pulled his fingers out of himself and tried not to focus on the shame that was rising up in him. He picked up an old handkerchief of his -- no, he didn’t keep it around for this express reason, of course not -- and cleaned himself up. Shoving it away in his pack, he cringed at the thought of cleaning it tomorrow.

As he was tucking his undershirt back into his pants, he realized it was taking Geralt a good while to come back to their room. He couldn’t possibly have gotten lost; the thought of the mutant hunter getting turned around in a village as small as this one was kind of comical. He hoped he hadn’t gotten into trouble. Backwater towns tended to be a bit more inclined to fear and even hate Witchers, after all.

Though a bit of worry continued to tug on him, he settled in to revise some of the verses he had scribbled down as they came to him on the road. He doubted there was any creature that could be troubling the Witcher that Jaskier himself would be any more equipped to fight off. As for placating prejudiced villagers, the bard was often worse at reasoning with them than Geralt. His extensive vocabulary spanned from the most flowery phrases to the most vulgar disparagements, so he had plenty to work with.

He had spent at least a half hour poring over his nearly unintelligible notes when the door opened to reveal his missing companion. He looked worn out, not just physically from fighting the ekimmara but, it appeared, emotionally as well. The fabric of his clothes that peeked out from his armor was darkened with the sprinkling of rain that had started outside. Once he closed the door behind himself, he seemed to sink into himself, his shoulders slumping down from where they were tensed up to add to his already intimidating stature.

He tossed the bag with the payment from the contract onto the table in the corner and sighed, immediately taking out his swords to be meticulously checked over for wear. 

“You were gone for a while. Something happen?”

Geralt grunted but didn’t look up. “Nothing new. Didn’t want to pay once the work was done. Managed to get just under the promised pay out of him.”

No matter how many times it happened, Jaskier still felt anger pool in his chest whenever someone cheated their way out of paying. He knew Geralt would tell him to get used to it, that he himself already had, but in all honesty, he didn’t want to. He wasn’t willing to become one of the people complacent with the Witcher’s mistreatment.

After a few quiet seconds where Jaskier absently watched the man immerse himself in his task, he noticed his armored shoulders tighten back up. He seemed to focus on something distant that the human couldn’t pick up on. It seemed impossible, but Geralt’s features darkened even more, his lips pulling into a grimace.

Concerned, the bard asked, “What’s wrong?” But he didn’t get a response. Geralt straightened and strapped his swords back on. As he moved towards the door, Jaskier’s worry increased and he jumped up to stop the older man from leaving.

But he stopped in his movement when Geralt turned a glare at him. 

“I don’t want to stop you from having guests over,” he spat. Jaskier paused for a moment, startled and lost.

“What in the world are you talking about?”

The man scoffed and turned away. “You obviously didn’t waste any time before hopping into bed with someone while I was busy. Must’ve been shit, judging by the fact that they were in and out in under an hour.” Before the poet could even comprehend his statement, he was stalking off back out of the inn. Once the words sunk in, Jaskier scrambled after him, feeling confusion and anger rise up.

Even though the Witcher wasn’t running, his determined march away was hard to keep up with. He had reached the outskirts of the town before Jaskier could catch him. The rain had turned from a sprinkling to a full-on pour, soaking into both men’s clothes.

The brunet reached out and gripped one of the fleeing man’s wrists. Geralt ripped his arm away but halted nonetheless.

“What the fuck is your problem? Even if I was with someone while you were out, what right do you have to berate me for it?”

The Witcher didn’t answer, just clenched his jaw and avoided meeting Jaskier’s eyes.

“Now is a bad time to be your silent brooding self, Geralt. You want to yell at me? Keep going then!” Jaskier was near shouting at the end, driven by frustration and bewilderment. 

Geralt rumbled a growl and started off again, not willing to stand there and be scolded by the bard. Jaskier shouted after him and hurried to keep up with the WItcher’s impressive stride.

By then, they had wandered well outside the town’s edge, enveloped by the sound and sight of rain showering the trees around them. They were both drenched but too preoccupied with their spat to give it much of a thought.

“Are you going to explain yourself or just--”

“Oh, fuck off!” Geralt snarled. “Why do you care what I’m doing when you have such obliging company to occupy you? I could smell exactly what you got up to in my absence. As soon as you got what you needed to tell your stories, you fucked right off to the next person that suited your needs.” By then, the man had turned back to Jaskier, inching into his space until, as he finished his rant, they were centimeters apart. They stared at each other while the words pieced themselves together in the bard’s head. When he understood, his gut lit up with shame and indignation.

“Not that it’s any of your concern,” he seethed, “but what you  _ smelled _ was me alone. I’m more offended by the fact that I’ve spent decades --  _ decades, Geralt! _ \-- trailing after you and still you think so little of me. You’re part of my family now. I care about you. But what am I to you? Some sort of leech trying to take advantage of your work?” He choked on his words as hot tears escaped him, burning his cheeks in contrast to the chilled rain. He broke eye contact with the other man, letting out a self-deprecating scoff. Sarcasm dripped from his words when he spoke again. “If this is your opinion of me… forgive me, sir, for taking up so much of your time.”

As Jaskier moved to walk back to the town, he was tugged back by a surprisingly soft hold on his hand. When he looked back at Geralt, the man had a disarmingly vulnerable expression of awe. The bard fumbled at the sudden shift. “Geralt?”

“Do you mean it?”

“W-what?”

“That you… care about me. Do you mean it?”

Jaskier was bewildered. “Of course I do. How could I spend so long with someone as worthy of love as you and feel nothing?” The words tumbled out of him before he could think about the implications. It seemed to only add to the lost look on the Witcher’s face.

“You… you never said. You tell people everything you’re feeling as soon as you feel it, but… you never said it to me.” 

“Oh, Geralt.” The bard’s chest tightened with guilt. “I’m so sorry, love. I didn’t know you thought... “ The hand not enveloped by Geralt’s came up to tenderly curve around the taller man’s cheek. “I should have told you. It hasn’t been about the songs, not since you got us out of that cave in Posada. I care for you Geralt, truly.”

The wonderment lingered in Geralt’s eyes as they gazed at each other soaking in the revelations of their words. Their bodies had moved closer subconsciously, now molded together as best they could with Geralt’s armor in the way. The force of their emotions tugged their faces closer and closer. Both had ample time to back away, to brush off the heaviness of the moment and call it a misunderstanding, but neither man would have pulled away for anything. Their eyes drifted shut and as their lips made contact, it felt like breaking through the surface of an ocean. 

The kiss turned desperate within moments. The Witcher’s rough hands cradled the back of Jaskier’s head and his waist, the bard’s own grip shifting to cling on to Geralt’s shoulders. Jaskier felt himself being pushed backwards until his back met the rugged bark of a nearby tree. Their hands turned rougher, pulling the other desperately closer, trying to feel as much of each other as they possibly could. Their hips ground together without thinking. As the embrace turned more amorous, Jaskier let a brave hand wander down to palm Geralt through his pants, winning himself a strangled groan into the kiss. Strong fingers dug into Jaskier’s ass, kneading and pushing his hips closer to press against the back of the hand in between them.

Eventually, Geralt’s fingers found their way to the ties at the back of Jaskier’s trousers and pulled frantically to get them undone. Once they gave way, Geralt slid one hand under the waistband to take Jaskier’s cock gently in hand. The kiss finally broke as the bard pulled away slightly to gasp raggedly at the contact. His hand tightened on the Witcher’s erection through the fabric, eliciting a similarly affected groan of pleasure from the man.

Without breaking contact, Jaskier feverishly tugged off one of his own boots and pushed down his trousers just enough to pull one leg free and hitch it up around Geralt’s hip.

The Witcher’s hand pulled away from Jaskier’s dick to reach around and press between his asscheeks. His fingertips met slicked, hot skin and he let out a groan. 

“Did you already fuck yourself?”

Jaskier flushed. “I couldn’t help it. Watching you fight makes me want you to plow me into next week, so I had to take what I could get.” Geralt made a noise somewhere between a growl and a moan, slamming their mouths back together. He started stroking with his fingertips, circling the rim and pressing just enough to tease.

Jaskier released a desperate whine, pulling at Geralt’s waistband and making a muffled noise that resembled Geralt’s name. The kiss had turned filthy, lips slick with spit and rain and tongues exploring new territory. Geralt’s hips stuttered forward as Jaskier bit down on the Witcher’s bottom lip and tugged. In retaliation, the man pressed one rough fingertip into Jaskier’s hole, testing the tightness of the muscle. When he found it to be welcoming of the intrusion, he pushed the rest of his thick finger in down to the last knuckle, curling it and stroking the silken flesh inside. It pulled a moan from deep in the bard’s chest.

Pumping it in and out a few times, he felt Jaskier relax after just a short while and pulled out his finger only to push it back in joined by another. With each curl of his digits, Jaskier tensed in pleasure and pawed harder at Geralt’s bulge. Trembling hands finally undid the lacing on his leather trousers, immediately seizing the opportunity to slip inside and grip Geralt’s aching cock without any barrier. Groaning into the kiss as a soft hand carded through the coarse white hair surrounding his dick, Geralt added yet another finger. After pushing in and out a few times, Jaskier whimpered impatiently.

“ _ Geraaaalt. _ Stop teasing, just fuck me.” The hunter shut him up with a rough kiss. 

Pulling back, he growled, “If we’re doing this without extra oil, I’m stretching you with at least four. Patience.” Jaskier opened his mouth to argue, but thought about how thick the man’s dick felt in his hand and figured he probably had a point. It didn’t stop him from whining about it, though.

Their fingers, which had grown cold in the downpour, stroked at blood-hot skin that felt like embers with the contrast. It felt like an eternity to both before Geralt was gently easing in his pinky alongside the others. The soft burn that came with it travelled through Jaskier’s nerves to warm his whole body. 

The poet broke the kiss to nip at Geralt’s stubbled jaw, licking at the side of his throat and lapping up the mix of rainwater and sweat that probably should have disgusted him. He groaned into the soft skin of the man’s neck. “Fucking hell, your fingers are so thick. So fucking good.” At a particularly well-placed stroke, he bit down on the skin that rose just above Geralt’s collar, suddenly wishing that they had the opportunity to undress fully. He hoped he had another chance to remedy the oversight.

After a few more long moments of kissing and tugging and caressing, Jaskier made a truly pitiful noise of torment. “Please,  _ please, _ get inside me.” 

The words made the Witcher’s slow heart stutter and jump, waves of heat rising through his belly as he groaned, “You’ll be the end of me.”

Any response Jaskier had to that was cut off by a wounded sound as the man pulled his fingers out of the bard’s ass. “Arms around my shoulders,” Geralt commanded. Jaskier pulled his hand away from Geralt’s cock only by focusing on the promise of more that the words held. 

Once the brunet complied, Geralt ducked down to hook his arms under the backs of the man’s knees, lifting him up and spreading his legs in one motion. With his back supported by the tree behind him, Jaskier had his arms looped around the other man’s neck, tightening his hold both for balance and to close any distance between them. There wasn’t much, with the bard practically folded in half and the Witcher’s hips grinding into his. Geralt’s pants were tugged down just enough to free his cock and when their bare skin met, it felt like an electric shock radiated from the points of contact. 

Geralt slid his shaft between the bard’s cheeks and up to his balls, pulling groans of pleasure from both men. He allowed saliva to pool in his mouth before spitting it down between them, carefully aimed at the tip of his erection. Between his spit and the oil from Jaskier’s earlier activities, he hoped it was enough to make the friction pleasant.

A few passes of the Witcher’s shaft over the bard’s stretched hole, and he angled their hips just right so the head caught on his rim and started to slide in. The slow thrust inward forced the bard to choke out a high-pitched moan, overwhelmed by the feeling of being fucked by the man he had dreamed of having for so long.

Once their hips met and he could push no further, Geralt pressed a tender kiss to Jaskier’s forehead, plastered with his hair dripping from the rain. He then dropped his head to settle between Jaskier’s neck and shoulder and breathed deeply.

“ _ Julian, _ ” he whispered, answered by a sob torn from Jaskier’s lungs.

“Geralt,” he whimpered. “Please, give me more, give me everything.”

After dropping an affectionate peck on the bard’s throat, Geralt finally inched his hips back. Unable to stop himself, he thrust back in quickly, startling a pleased sound from his lover.

As the staccato rhythm continued, Jaskier’s toes curled in the air, only one foot still clad in its boot. Both of them panted into the small space between them, overcome with the feeling of giving into desire and having each other for the first time.

“Gods, you’re going to split me open. You’re so big. So  _ good. _ ”

Despite having cum barely an hour prior, Jaskier felt himself getting close quickly. After all, acting out a scene from his most torturous fantasies, he was in no shape to last for long.

“I’m c-close, love.” Geralt’s chest rumbled with a growl, snapping his hips faster into Julian’s, shoving his cock increasingly roughly into the poet’s clenching ass.

He felt Jaskier’s internal muscles flex around him as he fell over the edge. The feeling, combined with the delicious pace, had him rapidly following in the man’s footsteps. His grip on the man’s slim waist constricted, likely leaving bruises for the younger to fawn over the next day.

When Julian was done releasing his cum onto his already-ruined shirt and had caught his breath a bit -- which was difficult when still being fucked relentlessly -- he angled his head to nuzzle into the space behind the Witcher’s ear.

“Cum for me. Fill me, Geralt,” he breathed.

It was all the man needed for his hips to snap forward a few more times before halting, pressed as hard as possible into Jaskier. His cock twitched inside his sensitive hole and Jaskier wasn’t sure if he imagined the feeling of the Witcher’s cum splashing inside him. 

They stayed in place for a minute to try and catch their breath. Both men stayed quiet as Jaskier’s legs were gently lowered to the ground, though his arms stayed around Geralt’s shoulders for support. His legs felt like they couldn’t support the weight of a newborn kitten right then.

Adjusting the bard’s hold on his frame, Geralt ducked down to carefully slide Jaskier’s leg back into his sodden trousers, pulling them up to his hips and slipping the abandoned boot back on his foot. Now that the intensity of the moment had passed, the chill was starting to seep in and their clothes clung uncomfortably to their skin. 

Allowing Jaskier to lean on him, they slowly made their way back to the inn where they were staying. Ignoring the interested glance of the barkeep, they climbed the stairs and stumbled into their room, Geralt shutting the door firmly behind them. Jaskier stripped sleepily out of his clothes, tossing the dripping garments into a corner to be dealt with tomorrow. Geralt took a bit longer as his cold fingers unbuckled and slid off his armor.

Once fully undressed, the Witcher tossed a few logs into the fireplace he was now incredibly grateful for and set them aflame with a snap of his fingers. Content that it would quickly warm the small space of their room, he turned back to see Jaskier gazing at him with something that resembled wonder. The bard’s bottom half was already under the blankets and he pulled back the covers in invitation. Geralt graciously accepted, sliding in close to his warming body and tugging the blankets into place. 

The men easily found their places, Geralt laying back on the pillow while Jaskier laid his cheek on the Witcher’s strong chest and threw an arm over his torso. Their legs tangled together, sharing each other’s returning warmth.

They settled in and basked in it all for a few minutes. The crackling of the flames and the rain against the roof provided a white noise that enhanced the comforting closeness of the moment.

Eventually, Geralt gently broke the quiet. “Did you… When you called me “love”, was that… you meant it?” He sounded so amazed by the idea, as if it was an utterly impossible idea until then.

Julian’s crystal eyes glittered up at him as he grinned softly. “Of course. I’ve loved you for years, Geralt.” He didn’t push after that, didn’t expect Geralt to reciprocate. But he spoke anyway after a few seconds of taking in the declaration.

“Feelings are… difficult for me, I’m sure you know. I don’t always know what they mean. But I think… I’m sure now that I feel love for you. What I feel with the Wolves, with Ciri and Yen, that’s love. With you it’s different. But I know now that it's still love. And I know that it’s just as strong as the love I feel for my family.”

It wasn’t a confession right out of a poem. It didn’t have flowery words or romantic cliches. But it meant absolutely everything to Julian.

Tears glazing his eyes, the man let out a giddy giggle. He shifted his body up to align his lips with Geralt’s and pressed a gentle, slow kiss to his mouth. The embrace lasted only a few seconds, but the emotion in it was staggering. 

When they parted, Geralt reached up to lay a hand on either side of Jaskier’s head. He carefully tilted it forward until their foreheads rested against each other.

“I love you, songbird.”

Jaskier chuckled breathlessly. “I love you, my wolf.”

And they settled back down, their bodies growing warmer and adoration billowing in their chests.

"...You still have to apologize for yelling at me, though."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still working on how to end fics... ah well
> 
> Come talk to me @PeachieBun06 on Twitter!
> 
> P.S. let me know if you spotted the Pride and Prejudice movie reference hehe


End file.
